"Ah."
Stryj had learned all he wanted to know.
At that moment a waiter entered the room bearing a copy of Who's Who for the current year. Von Salzinger seized upon it, and, by the time the man had withdrawn and shut the door, he had found the page he sought.
"Ach!" cried Von Salzinger. "Here he is. The luck has served me well. It is as though the plums were ripe, and ready to drop into my mouth."
Stryj rose and crossed over to his side. He looked down where the stubby finger of the soldier pointed.
"Farlow, Ruxton. Only son of Sir Andrew Farlow, Bart. Member of Parliament for ——. Under Secretary for Foreign Office in 19—. Yes. Partner in firm of Farlow, Son and Farlow, ship-builders and ship-owners. Dorby. Hall Dorby, Yorkshire. Residence, Dorby Towers, Yorkshire. So." Salzinger looked up as he concluded reading out disjointed fragments of the information he sought. "They are ripe—ripe, these plums," he cried exultingly. "Johann, my friend," he went on, glancing up into the spy's clever face, "it is good to see the plums hanging—ripe. We have got to hear all they talk of and contemplate, we have to watch and discover all that is known by Farlow, Son and Farlow. That is your work. You, and those under your control. You will leave for Dorby at once. While I——"
"Watch that the birds do not eat the ripe plums you would pick. Dorby. I saw the name in the papers yesterday. Those are the yards some portion of which have been taken over by the British Admiralty. These papers tell me something worth while sometimes."
"The British Navy?" The fierce eyes of the soldier were startled. He ran his fingers through his stubbly hair. "Curse the British Navy."
"Yes."
The mild rejoinder seemed to irritate Von Salzinger.